


I am Natasha Romanoff

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Cars, Gen, parking cars is hard dammit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 23:11:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Because you are Natasha Romanoff. You are a master assassin, and if you can kill a man with your thighs then you can park a goddamn car in a goddamn bay!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I am Natasha Romanoff

“There might be a slight problem with that.”

“What do you mean there might be a slight problem? With what?”

“With parking, at the end.”

Clint turned to Natasha, his mouth having fallen open so wide he was surprised it didn’t hit his lap. “You are joking, right? This is one of those times when you make a joke and I don’t get it and somehow that makes the whole thing funnier for you, right?” His voice was somewhat higher than he would have liked but they were roaring down the highway at eighty miles an hour and he was beginning to wonder if this wasn’t something of a catastrophic mistake.

“If it makes it easier for you to think of it that way, then sure,” Natasha answered, her eyes suddenly fixed on the road ahead.

Clint glared at her. “You mean you’re not joking?”

“I mean we might have a problem in,” Natasha glanced down at the sat nav on the dashboard. “Forty-three miles.”

Clint was so shocked that he couldn’t speak for a moment. He just stared out the windscreen, struggling to gather his thoughts. 

“But you have a driver’s licence, I’ve seen it.”

“Yeah, a Russian driver’s licence. They’re a little bit different.”

“Different like how?”

“Like you buy them off a guy for twenty bucks.”

“How is it,” Clint asked after a moment. “That the Red Room taught you how to kill a man with your thighs but they never thought to teach you how to drive a car?”

“Oh, they taught us to drive all kinds of things, we just didn’t spend that much time on parking. They wanted to concentrate on the essentials.”

“Parking isn’t essential?!”

“They figured it was more important that their assassins could kill people. Any transport we used we drove out to the wilds and burned. And they didn’t really care if you parked it straight.”

Clint shook his head. “Let’s not talk about this for a little bit, huh?”

“For the next forty-two miles?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

 

_Forty-two miles later_

“So...”

“Yes?”

“Now might be the time to talk about that little problem.”

Clint glanced from Natasha to the parking lot outside, before dropping his head into his hands in despair. “This has got to be the most surreal moment of my life. And my life hasn’t exactly been bland.”

“Couldn’t you just park it for me?” Natasha asked, her voice taking on a little-used and unappealing whine.

“No, I will not park it for you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you are Natasha Romanoff. You are a master assassin, and if you can kill a man with your thighs then you can park a goddamn car in a goddamn bay!” Clint was yelling at this point, scarcely able to believe what was happening to him.

“But what if I scratch someone else’s car?” Natasha pressed.

“Then your insurance will pay for it. That’s what insurance is for. Wait a second,” Clint stopped short, squinting at her. “You do have insurance, don’t you?”

Natasha threw him a filthy look, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “Yes, Clint. But if I make a claim on that insurance, then my premiums go up.”

Clint had gone from squinting to staring so fast that he was afraid his eyes were going to pop out of his head. “How do you fly SHIELD jets every day of the week and never have this problem? Those things cost hundreds of thousands of dollars, tell me how that works.”

“Well, if I hit someone else in a jet they’re not all that likely to complain.”

There was a honk from the car behind them and Clint pounded the dashboard in frustration. “You are Natasha Romanoff, man up and park this goddamn car right now!”

Natasha looked at him for a moment, a wounded expression on her face. But the man in the car behind them had run out of patience. He leaned on the horn longer and louder, gesturing through his windshield at them.

“Fine.” Natasha’s voice was petulant as she crunched the clutch into gear and turned into the space. The whole process took a grand total of eleven seconds and then she had stopped the car once more, and her expression had changed to one that suggested she was just as shocked as anyone else by how well the whole situation had worked out.

“See?” Clint asked as he unbuckled his seatbelt and reached for the door. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“You didn’t have to yell about it though,” Natasha muttered as she followed him out of the car. “Hey, where are you going?”

“To beat the shit out of that guy. It’s rude to honk like that.”

“Oh,” Natasha smiled slightly. “Have fun.”


End file.
